Liquid Mercury
by Colwyn
Summary: We were like brother and sister, two different people, but with parts of each others soul exchanged and sewn into the very fabric of our beings.  LxA oneshot.


A/N: A short oneshot inspired by the Death Note Manga.

- Liquid Mercury -

It's amazing - how one little mistake can so easily change the course of your life. As a detective, I should know this better than anyone. Each day, on nearly every case I work on, I am reinforced this simple fact, warning me that one lapse of control, one slip of the tongue, can uproot an entire way of life.

Yet, despite having this pounded into my skull day in and day out, I was still naive enough to look into those eyes, those stormy blue eyes, and believe I wouldn't get hurt. Naive enough to think that we would grow old together, laughing on a porch swing in the pleasant heat of summer.

And even foolish enough to believe we were invincible - that not even death could take us.

Now, I don't mean to say that I wasn't aware death would find us eventually...it's just that I had never expected it to be so soon.

She was a stronghold in my life - a life where my only home had been an orphanage and each case took me to a different corner of the globe. It was knowing that she would always be there when I got back, waiting with a playful smile and a cup of sugared tea, that made me feel like I had a structure in my life, like I was loved.

Not romantically of course, that type of relationship was out of the question - but in a way that the word 'friendship' couldn't properly encompass. We were like brother and sister, two different people, but with parts of each others soul exchanged and sewn into the very fabric of our beings.

It sounds silly, I know, but when I was with her, I couldn't help but think things like that - those senseless things that children thought of, things that seemed like they came out of a fairytale.

We dreamt of turning into mockingbirds, flying high over strawberry fields and garden mazes. We gazed at the stars and debated whether or not they could turn cold. And we wondered how liquid mercury would taste.

She was the sort of person who had that kind of effect on you, coercing you into thinking that there were no limitations in the world - almost like a drug.

She would make you do things you would remember forever, cherishing the memory, yet regretting it at the same time. Being with her was like a high, clouding your judgement, but giving you such ecstasy that you become addicted; to her charms, to her laugh, to the smell of rosewood and lilies that perfumed that air around her.

And then you fall in love, so quickly that you hardly have time to register your feelings for this young girl. You are no longer clouded by the high she gives you, but by the fear that your relationship will never be the same. You run, thinking fast and on your feet, telling her that you're going, leaving for another case. She can see the panic in your eyes and knows something has changed, asking you what's wrong, but you brush her off, saying your sorry, and that you have to go.

And when you're in the Bentley, buckled in and sweating, she runs up to the car, yelling. But the car has already started, the engine humming and her words are lost as the sleek limo begins to roll down the drive.

Then the day comes when you're woken up by a telephone call, ringing in the early haze of morning. You are informed that Allison has been found dead - in her bathroom, and with a bottle of liquid mercury clutched tightly in her hands.

This is also the morning where you begin to realise that the mockingbird is a raven and doesn't fly over a field of bright red strawberries, but a battleground bathed in crimson blood. You come to see that there are people in those mazes, lost and alone, and that it's impossible for a star to turn cold. And you already know what liquid mercury tastes like. It tastes like poison.

It tastes like the dull ache of withdrawal, and the harsh realisation when it registers that you will never pop another pill of her laughter, her wit, her smile.

But you come to think that maybe you should try it, just to make sure you're right. Because who really knows what it tastes like...Perhaps it tastes like freedom.

No, you scold yourself, bringing yourself back to reality.

Your emotions will not control you. They are illogical. Just look in the mirror and bear witness to what they have done.

You begin to chant this, making it a sort of mantra and saying it so many times that you begin to believe it. But like your drug, the effects begin to wear off and you long for a sense of comfort, another placebo to numb your pain.

So, for the first time in years, you bring you knees up to your chest, hugging them as tears drip down you cheeks. You see your legs as a sort of shield, protecting your heart from the outside world and keeping it from ever touching you again.

You reach for the bar of chocolate they left on your pillow, tearing off the wrapper and drowning yourself in the silky sweetness. And then hiccuping, you start to laugh - tears of anger, sadness, and confusion streaming from your eyes as you lay down on the downy covers of the hotel bed, hoping to fall unconscious, to be put out of this misery. But sleep never comes.

It isn't until streams of sunlight begin to filter through your window that you move, walking stiffly towards the mirror. Your fingers brush the circles under you eyes and you wonder if you'll ever sleep again.

But that is a silly thought, you say - the senseless things children think of.

And you're right.

Because in five days time you leave this new world of ravens, and guilt, and boundaries and fall into a deep slumber - exhausted from throwing yourself into your work and the emotional turmoil raging inside you.

The striped walls of your hotel room have blurred and faded, the lines becoming indistinct and foggy. You begin to squint, trying to make sense of the scene before you when you suddenly find yourself sitting in a field of strawberries, a bright eyed girl smiling next to you, her voice clear and sharp as she laughs giddily.

You think it sounds like the tinkling of bells, and you close your eyes, enjoying the moment until you sense a change. Your eyes open wide to see that the luscious colours of the field have faded and that her laugh is now dark and chuckling, deep like the bells of a funeral.

She whispers in your ear 'Do you know who killed me?' Her voice is that of a child's, high pitched and innocent. 'Do you know who left me, who tore my soul?' She grasps your wrist tightly, her nails digging into your skin. You are petrified, unable to move and she continues her taunting. 'I heard he was a fool - terrified and selfish.'

The bells grow louder, tuning out her voice and it begins to rain. You watch as a silvery grey liquid falls from the sky and you whisper to yourself, 'Mercury'. Your head then quickly snaps to the side and you watch the girl dancing in it, sticking out a pink tongue to catch the fluid.

But now you're confused. You had thought this world was grey, where colours ceased to exist.

You take a step back.

You're scared of this world where colours come and go - scared at your lack of understanding.

So you run, thinking fast and on your feet, but trip, getting tangled in vines that have sprung from nowhere. Your eyelids flutter open and a small gasp escapes your lips as you recall your nightmare.

And you wonder...What does liquid mercury taste like? Perhaps I should try it.

P.S. Sorry for the explosion of unnecessary commas and run on sentences. The English language and I still have a few things we have yet to fully understand about each other.


End file.
